


Belling the Cat

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Nine Lives [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 07:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15792297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Trevor doesn’t know who’s to blame for this – okay, that’s a filthy, filthy lie because the answer is very clearly Gavin. (He’s learned the answer to anything utterly ridiculous around here is usually Gavin.)So to rephrase, Gavin’s the one to blame for this nonsense.





	Belling the Cat

“What?”

Gavin’s grinning at him, this sly edge to it that’s just this side of a smirk. (Subtle differences between the two, and oh how masterful Gavin is at maintaining that delicate balance.)

“Well,” he says, and clearly he’s been hanging around Ryan too much because he’s starting to pick up his speech patterns. “You’re a cat burglar, aren’t you?”

Trevor bites back a sigh because Gavin’s latched on to that a little too gleefully. 

Delighting in sending Trevor the latest articles regarding the resurgence of his work persona in Los Santos and the speculation surrounding it. What ominous portents it holds, like they’re all a bunch of superstitious ninnies from olden times faced with a black cat crossing their path.

“Technically, Gavin - “

“It’s a test of your skill,” Gavin says, looking for all the world like this is a serious endeavor and not a idea he’s snatched out of a children’s cartoon or terrible superhero movie with a training montage while a sage mentor looks on. “You said you were a bit rusty, didn’t you?”

And that.

He’s not wrong, exactly, but this - 

“Twenty bucks says you can’t do it,” Gavin says, that smile of his tipping right on over into a smirk, and honestly, there's really only one thing Trevor can do after that.

========

Geoff’s the first one to see Trevor with his new accessory, early one morning (or very, very late one night, depending on your point of view) in the penthouse kitchen. Trevor is silently willing the oh so fancy coffee machine to work faster dammit, he can feel his blood trying to reassert dominance in his veins, and that just won’t do.

“There’s ah,” Geoff says, gesturing at his own neck, little flick of his fingers. “You’ve got something there, buddy.”

Trevor smiles, careful not to show teeth because he’s working on fumes and the coffee is not done brewing. This steady, maddening, drip, drip, gurgle, _drip_.

“You don’t like it?” Trevor asks, because he’s a terrible, terrible person and some part of him knows better, but early morning (late, late night) and _Geoff_ and this damnable bet of Gavin’s. “I think it makes my eyes pop.”

Geoff’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he shakes his head and reaches for one of the mugs placed on the counter like he’s realized he doesn’t really want the answer to his question.

Wise man, Geoff.

Trevor laughs and hands him the mug with _#1 Boss_ emblazoned on its side, a soft little chime filling the air as he does.

========

Jack, bless the man, takes one look at Trevor and sighs.

“You don’t have to humor him, you know that, right?” he asks, like he’s genuinely concerned Trevor doesn’t know. “If Gavin’s pestering you, spritz him with a squirt bottle. He’ll get the idea sooner or later.”

 _Oh, if only it was that simple_ , Trevor thinks, eyes narrowing a bit because there’s this smile lurking in Jack’s eyes even though the man looks honestly sincere.

Jack is, Trevor’s discovered, a terrible, terrible human being masquerading as a kind, understanding man who delights in the suffering of others. (Or rather, the suffering of his crew.)

“A squirt bottle,” Trevor says, slow and careful, as though he hasn’t heard clearly and wants to be sure to avoid possible misunderstandings.

“Works for cats,” Jack says, like that’s not a damnable lie.

Jack isn’t quite laughing in Trevor’s face – too polite for that – but Trevor knows the moment he’s out of the room Jack’s going to laugh himself sick.

“I see,” Trevor says, nodding along as he does, ignoring the way Jack’s cheeks are turning bright red from the effort of keeping his laughter contained as a light chiming noise sounds. “I’ll be sure to keep that one in mind, thank you ever so much, Jack.”

========

Trevor leans over Ryan’s shoulder to squint at the grainy security camera footage. He’s looking at the grounds of a building the crew has its eye on for a future heist, and realizes Ryan’s staring at his neck.

“Yes?”

“You can tell him to fuck off if he’s bothering you,” Ryan says, but there’s this. It’s something stronger than resignation, smells a little more like defeat, to his words. “Gavin’s an asshole, but not _that_ kind of asshole.”

A world of difference between the two, and a line Gavin walks beautifully. (They all do, Trevor’s learned, which is incredible when you think about it.)

“So I’ve been told,” Trevor says with a little smile, because he actually likes Gavin even with these ridiculous bets of his. 

Ryan cocks his head.

“There’s money on the line, here, Ryan,” Trevor says, like he doesn’t think this entire situation is hilarious in its own way after seeing everyone’s reactions. “I couldn't possibly back down now.”

“Right,” Ryan says, wry note to it as he turns back to the computer and brings up a different feed.

========

Michael and Jeremy corner him in the living room one fine afternoon.

“Is this an intervention?” Trevor asks, looking at their grim expressions. “I’ve never had one of those before, do I need to do anything?”

Michael looks like he wants to murder someone – Trevor, possibly – and jabs a finger at Trevor.

“If this turns out to be a sex thing, I don’t want to fucking know.”

“ _We_ ,” Jeremy stresses, looking pained. “ _We_ don’t want to know.”

Trevor stares at them nonplussed, and remembers they’ve been out of town for Geoff. Don’t know about Gavin’s little bet, the reason behind that little strip of leather around Trevor’s neck. 

They do know, however, that he and Alfredo have been doing this careful little dance. Dates and _gestures_ and other things to build a strong foundation for their relationship.

“Oh,” Trevor says, and laughs so hard it sets the bell around his neck ringing loud and clear, this bright sound. “Oh my goodness, _no_.”

And then he stops laughing abruptly because they look skeptical, dubious, and Trevor is _awful_.

“Do you think Alfredo would be into that kind of thing?” he asks, like he’s concerned he hasn’t broached the topic with Alfredo before now. Hasn’t been _considerate_ , just to see the looks on their faces. “We didn’t talk about it before, but - “

“Fucking Christ,” Michael mutters, hand over his face. 

Jeremy’s making this sad little noise like his soul is trying to leave his body and oh, oh, this is glorious.

“Go to hell, Trevor” Michael snarls, and drags Jeremy out of the room because he can’t seem to move on his own.

========

Lindsay, because she’s a treasure, high fives Trevor and gives him a card to a shop she knows. 

Totally discrete and the employees are super knowledgeable and helpful. (Tell them she sent him, and they’ll give him a discount.)

=========

“Hey, you do you, man.”

Matt is quickly becoming one of Trevor’s favorites.

========

Alfredo -

“Oh my God,” he says, eyes wide. And then he frowns. “Wait. Let me guess, Gavin?”

Trevor shrugs, careful movement that doesn’t set the bell to chiming.

For all that he’s felt Gavin’s bet was ridiculous and vaguely insulting, it _has_ helped.

Took a bit of time to remember how to move with the bell around his neck. Annoying and aggravating because each failure was a reminder as to how badly he’s allowed himself to slip over the years.

But with a little work, he’s almost to the point where he can move without the accompanying noise of the bell without needing to think about it, and it’s so very satisfying. (Earned him twenty dollars, although Gavin tried to weasel his way out of things, this little smile on his face the whole damn time.)

Fredo’s been on a job for Geoff, playing the good little security consultant and bouncing around the city. Never around long enough to do more than peck Trevor on the lips in passing, warm hand on his cheek and murmured apologies.

Trevor hums and taps the bell, this delicate little silver thing. Quality made, not just something he grabbed off the shelf somewhere.

“He’s watched too many cartoons and terrible movies, I think,” Trevor says, still so amused, pitches his voice high and nasally and British. “Bought into a load of rubbish and all.”

Alfredo snorts, because that much is obvious, _but_.

“It’s, uh,” he says, eloquent as ever as he stares at Trevor’s neck and the collar he’s wearing. “Nice, real nice.”

Trevor raises an eyebrow, because maybe they _should_ have talked about this.

“Really?” he asks, fingers tapping the leather of the collar. “I wasn’t sure - “

Trevor doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Alfredo is giving him this familiar look. Like he wants to kiss Trevor but isn’t sure how, because he’s as much of a human disaster as Trevor is, and he’s been so, so careful these days.

“Fredo?”

Alfredo makes this little noise in his throat, mutters something that Trevor doesn’t quite catch, and - 

“Oh, hello,” Trevor says, and when the bell rings as Alfredo crowds him up against the wall to kiss him, he decides should wear it just a little bit longer. 

For training purposes, of course.


End file.
